Thoughts about returning home 🏡
*this is not my house..
My finals ended, summer holidays have officially started and I returned to my home town.
Although I am really happy living on my own in a different city from the one I grew up, I felt a great nostalgia when I encountered the house in which I spend my childhood and teenage years. And I felt the most homey and the most reminiscent when I entered my room. My bedroom was the room that I always felt safe, as no one could see me and judge me for dancing around and singing. Most importantly, it was the first place that I could call my own, where I could do whatever I wanted and I could do whatever I wanted with it.
All that might sound crazy and a bit extreme but a lot of time pasted since the last time I had visited my home town and consequently my home. And this is true for a number of people in their 20s, who live far from their families. But I realised that although I am talking about an unanimated object, about just a building, it is the memories that I have in this house that make it so special. All the happy and sad moments that I experienced inside it that make me so sentimental just by laying eyes on it.
However, I know that sometimes it is hard to travel all the way back home either because you may not afford it or because you may not have the time due to a busy schedule. But, this is no excuse for not keeping in touch with the people living in that house that marked your childhood. Because it is the people who matter the most, as these people (your parents, your siblings, etc) will stand by you no matter what and they will always have their door open for you.
So, if you don't remember the last time you spoke with your parents or another family member you love, call them to see what's up with them. Or even better, arrange a trip back to your home town. Actually a few months ago, I went back home without letting my mum knowing about it and when she saw me, she got really excited. Thus, a surprise homecoming would be a perfect summer present for your family.

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